


A Most Honorable Tradition

by plotweaver



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-17
Updated: 2015-05-17
Packaged: 2018-03-30 20:28:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3950632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plotweaver/pseuds/plotweaver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Battles are messy affairs, no place for wild, dwarven hair to be flowing in every which direction.</p><p>A fluffy Bagginshield drabble in response to a conundrum addressed on Tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Most Honorable Tradition

**Author's Note:**

> newtypezaku on Tumblr said, "We’re watching Battle of the Five Armies and I can’t get how these guys with long hair can somehow fight without tying it back. Like, I can’t even walk in a gentle breeze with mine down."
> 
> That gave me the image of the dwarves who were not fighting tying back the hair of the warrior dwarves before battle. So here you go.

Of the numerous and honorable traditions of the dwarves, this was by far Bilbo’s least favorite.

His fingers fumbled in Thorin’s hair, shaking as he thought of what was to come.

The Battle of the Five Armies was well over and won, but murderous sects of orcs and wargs still roamed the lands, looking for blood. A particularly sizable group had made their way to Erebor’s gates, and the dwarven army looked to their king to lead them.

It was hardly a challenge, at least, that’s what Thorin told Bilbo to pacify his worries. Still, the flash of steel and the snarl of the spawn of Mordor were all too fresh in Bilbo’s mind, and he hated the thought of Thorin amongst them.

Thorin reached up to place his hands over Bilbo’s.

“You’ve grown still,” the king said. 

“Lost in thought,” Bilbo said. His began folding the sections of dark hair over and under again. “Is it tight enough?”

“A little tighter,” Thorin said, and Bilbo obliged, tugging slightly on the braid before securing it with beads and a band of leather. Thorin chuckled a little. “Wouldn’t want some orc besting me by yanking my hair like some child.”

Bilbo went still once more, glaring at the thick, finished braid in front of him. How Thorin could be so nonchalant about charging into blood and burning flesh, he would never know.

He rounded his king and grabbed his face. Thorin’s beard was rough between his soft palms. Hazel eyes locked onto blue.

“You will return to me, Thorin Oakenshield. You understand? You will return to me with every hair still on your head and every drop of blood still in your body. Or I will start a battle myself. One you will not win.”

Thorin barely smiled before leaning forward and pressing his lips against Bilbo’s. It was chaste, but it lingered for quite some time before Thorin pulled back minutely, keeping their foreheads touching.

“I would never dream of invoking the wrath of my consort,” he said with a smile. “I will always return to you. After all,” Thorin stood, fastening Orcrist at his hip, “the tradition is only half-complete.” 

Bilbo closed his eyes as Thorin bent to kiss him once more, and kept them closed as Thorin left their chambers to face the battle at the Lonely Mountain’s door.

After the battle, after Thorin visited with the families of the fallen and had his own wounds tended to, Bilbo completed the dwarven ceremony. He unfastened the beads from the ends of Thorin’s hair and carefully combed out the braids that had turned to tangles in the chaos and heat of the battle. His fingers gently worked through every knot of soft hair, while Thorin hummed quietly. Then, Bilbo fetched the basin of water from their dressing table and leaned Thorin over it. 

Bilbo scooped the water into his hands and let it fall over Thorin’s hair. Then he massaged sweet smelling oils into his king’s rough mane and smoothed it in his hands. 

Reluctantly, Bilbo found a drying cloth and ran it over Thorin’s hair, taking his time with this last part of the tradition. Bilbo walked Thorin over to the bed and sat them both on it, facing each other, to look at his king as he carefully dried his hair.

“There,” Thorin said after a moment, “that tradition isn’t so bad, is it?”

Bilbo allowed Thorin a small smile.

“I’m beginning to like it a little more,” he said. “There is one consort tradition that I much prefer, however.”

Thorin tilted his head in puzzlement. 

“And what would that be?”

Bilbo’s smile grew as he abandoned the drying cloth and leaned forward to kiss Thorin. He deepened it quickly, gently leaning Thorin back into the soft sheets of the bed. He felt the dwarf smile under his lips.

“I’ll think you’ll find we’re in agreement,” Thorin said when they allowed the smallest of spaces to come between them. “This tradition is far superior.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked it! I know it was short. Please don't forget to comment! It takes two seconds and keeps me happy for so much longer.


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